The Sanity of a Psychopath
by Nathaneal Jacobs
Summary: What happens when two psychotic gangsters fall in love? Never let them dance, three years later, you'll have hell on your hands. [One shot]


He heard the screams and knew that something bad would happen this time. Peeking out of his hiding place behind the old couch he saw his mother try to stand with his father standing over her. He hid his eyes once more and heard her final scream. Her final breath. She was gone...the only person he believed had loved him. He stood and ran from the room before his father saw him. He grabbed a razor from the bathroom and soon had slammed his bedroom door behind him. He locked it and stepped back from it slowly as though it would bite him. He looked at the razor without fear or twitchiness and quickly slashed his own wrists. He sat down on the floor and leaned against his bed, letting the blood pool on the floor. The doorknob shook violently, but he didn't care. He stared at the blood and was reminded of the thing that he would always be reminded of his entire life. The last time he saw his mother, her face was an unrecognizable, red ball. The door literally flew into the room in front of him and he looked up to see his father shouting something to his deaf ears. It turned black...painless...warm. He liked the feeling of floating on air. A painful shock tried to rip him away from it, but he held on, ignoring the sting until he saw his mother's face before him. Her regular, loving face, crying for his stupidity at trying to commit suicide. Another painful electric current ran through him and he was torn away from that pain free darkness. He looked up into the looming faces of paramedics and felt every movement of the ambulance below him. He saw his father there too and tried to speak, to tell what that man had done...that man whom had the nerve to call himself a father. The medics tried to calm him with soothing lies, but he grew hysterical. They gave him a sedative and he blacked out. The next thing he was aware of was not the painless darkness, it was the straps over him that held him down to a hospital bed. He had the strangest feeling then that he would never see his father again and felt content at that. He didn't discover until a week later that he was going to an Asylum for the criminally insane. The first week he was in a padded room in a straight jacket screaming at the top of his lungs "I didn't kill my mother!" wishing he was heard over the deafening silence. He ran himself against the soft walls, ripped and torn at the jacket. If he wasn't crazy before, he was by the time he got out of there. A face suddenly appeared. It had been years later, and the--man, now, remembered it too well. What that sick bastard had done to him...he didn't ever speak of it. But he did find a way to a blade that the staff had idly left out. By now, the man really believed he had killed his mother and he was more than willing to repeat himself and kill this man. When they pulled him out of the guy's room he was covered in blood and there was no face on the dead body anymore. Just an unrecognizable, red ball. He was put into the padded room in a straight jacket again, for two weeks. The only people he talked to were the people who fed him. Once or twice he tried to bite them, but there was a shocker under the jacket that they used to stop him. He was hysterical for a while after every meal, screaming things that weren't real words. Every time he was alone there was no language, his intelligence was gone. He truly was a beast, and then there was the silence. The boredom that drew him to think up ways to destroy a person. He always had this paranoid feeling he was being watched, too, so he always sat facing the wall. 'I'm being watched,' he thought, 'but how?...how, God damn it!' Then was the first time her heard it. 'Hello there, deary,' came a voice that he knew immediately was in his head for it sounded like his dead mother, 'you've lost you're mind. I know how to escape it.'

* * *

It wasn't these nightmares, or the memories...it never was. Paul, as he called himself now, was never much affected by these things. Ever since Freddie Mays had hired him and got him out of that hell, he didn't care anymore. Mays gave him a flat and told him to stay there until he was well by his own judgement. Paul deemed that this night he was "stable" enough to go out. He picked up the piece of paper on his nightstand and read the address.

'He said stable, sweetheart,' that voice said to him, 'You're not stable. You'll never be stable. You're a maniac...'

"Shut up, you bastard," Paul said, having slowly lost respect for the voice as it no longer reminded him of his mother.

Paul stood and pulled back the black curtains revealing that it was night. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it had to have been a few days. There was a suit laid out on the coffee table in the living that he'd left there for himself. He put it on and felt a little awkward wearing something other than a robe from the asylum.

He went out his door and into a hallway. He looked at the address on the paper and realized he had no idea where that was. He saw an elderly lady walking towards what he guessed to be her door. "Uh, miss," he addressed her, being that that's what he'd always called the doctors, who were all female. "Can you help me? I don't know where this is, but I need to get there." He showed her the paper and she stepped towards him and took it in her arthritis-stiff hand.

She nodded in recognition. "It's just down the street," she said in a kind voice, "You cross the parking lot and walk straight down the street, the first turn you come to, turn left. It's the first building you come to." She handed him the paper back with an all-knowing smile.

He was about to walk away when that voice came back. 'Don't be rude, you cunt,' it said harshly, 'where are your manners.' That is why it didn't remind him of his mother anymore. "Thank you," Paul said to the lady, "Have a nice night."

She went inside and he went to the stairs and descended them. He followed her directions and found himself outside a loud club playing David Bowie songs. He looked at the paper and underneath the address was written two words. When he entered the club a bouncer stopped him just inside the door and demanded a password. He said what was on the paper: "Fuck off." The bouncer let him in, satisfied.

He sat at the bar and got a gin and tonic, because that's what his mother always drank. It wasn't that bad. Everyone was dancing to the jazzy 80's music without any real notice of anyone other than themselves and their partners. One person stood out to him, in particular, because she danced alone. Oh, and she was wearing a loose, revealing, red dress that showed off what had to be c-cups at least. She was dancing to "Queen Bitch" with her own, graceful style. Her red hair was twisted into large, bouncy curls that danced of their own accord about her shoulders. He didn't deny he was interested. Having been stuck in that hellhole for fifteen years with the same women everyday was kind of redundant, you know.

The song cut out, suddenly and she stopped and glared at the speakers venomously. When the music started up again, she did even try to regain her graceful trance. She came over to the bar and knocked on it. "Hey, Jimmy," she called the bartender, "Vodka...on ice." She had a distinct American accent, unlike his own. She looked at him to notice that he was staring at her. Well, part of her. "Hey," she said suddenly, "You new? I haven't seen you around. What are you staring at?"

Paul blinked a few times and reminded himself that she was alive. 'She's not some statue to gawk at! What do they teach you in those institutions,' the voice said. He ignored it. "Yeah...uh," he stuttered, "Yeah, I'm sorry. I was staring at your..." 'Don't say breasts...Don't say breast!' "...your large...curls! You have lovely hair." 'Shit!' he thought. 'Well that was an awful save,' the voice snapped. "I'm sorry," Paul went on, "I haven't slept right lately."

She smiled at his nervousness. "I try not to sleep until I can no longer hold my eyes open," she said, "keeps the nightmares away." He was amazed at how she could drink that fast. She suddenly laughed and shook her head. "Oh, shit," she said, "There I go, talking like that. I don't even know who you are."

The voice in his head mimicked her rudely. 'Oh, what bait!' it said, 'don't you fall for it, damn you!' "Shut up, will you?" he muttered, not realizing he had said it out loud.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, not hearing what he said.

"Oh, I'm just talking to myself," he said. He wanted to hit himself. 'Oh, I'm just talking to myself...' the voice repeated, 'I'm just a nutcase fresh from your local psycho ward.'

"Reyna!" came a voice that wasn't inside his head this time. It was Freddie Mays. "I see you met my new bodyguard, Paul," he said as he walked up next to her. "Great, you saved me the introductions." He whispered something in Reyna's ear.

'See that?' the voice said, 'they're leaving you out. How could you like that? I told you she's nothing but bait.' Paul pushed the voice away. 'And you're nothing but a figment of my imagination,' he retorted silently.

"Paul, was it?" Reyna said, breaking his feud for the time being. "Will you dance with me?" Mays had gone at this point without Paul noticing.

"Well, I'm not much of a dancer," he said to save himself the embarrassment. He'd never danced before in his life.

She nodded and the music went slow as "Life on Mars" came on. "That's okay, I'll teach you," she said taking his hand. She pulled him up and led him out to the floor. "Put you hands on my waist and follow my lead." She had her hands on his arms and leaned close to him for the slow beginning of the song. Then the music picked up a little and she turned around and stood with her back to him, holding his hands on her hips. He tried to follow her sway, and found that he was succeeding. "You're good," she said turning around again and standing out at arm's length. "But you're too stiff. Loosen up." She did this weird thing with her arms to give the illusion of loose joints.

He shrugged and copied the move with a smile. "Loose?" he asked, "I told you I'm not much of a dancer."

"You're still not the worst," she said, "Look at this." She gingerly lifted a side of her dress just above midthigh. There was a white, ghastly scar on her already pale flesh. "I was in dancing class and my partner was a clutz. He tripped, then tripped me, knocked over a table and I fell on the leg, slashing my thigh open." She put her dress down again. "I beat the hell out of him after class," she said with a wry smile.

'Hell hath no fire like a woman scorned,' the voice said, 'maybe I was wrong about this one. She seems interesting.' 'So will you stop bugging me now?' 'No! Don't get involved with her! I know what you've been thinking this entire time! Don't fucking deny it now!' "I have to go," he said suddenly, "Thank you for the dance, but I really better be going."

She smiled and nodded. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "I enjoyed dancing with you," she said, "I'll see you around." With that she turned and disappeared into the crowd of dancers, moving to "Golden years."

He left the club, his head all split to two sides. 1.) Flirt with her, see what how far you can get. 2.) 'It's fucking wrong!' the voice shouted in his brain. 'All you could think of while she went and rubbed up against you was what it would be like to torture her. How she would react to pain. What her blood tastes like! You sicko!' Paul covered his ears as if that would help. 'You can't block me out that easily! Try something else, I dare you!' He couldn't take the taunting...or the truth. He soon reached the building he lived in and, on the stairs the voice came up again. 'I bet if she knew where you spent the majority of your life, she'd stay clear! Or if she heard what happened with...you know who.' Paul growled. "Shut up!" he yelled at no one, "Shut up! Shut up!" He hit his own head as if getting water out of his ears. 'You're not even trying,' the voice taunted. Paul got to his knees on the stairs and slammed his head into the concrete. He felt the pain and the warmth of blood spilling down his face, but he just smiled at the sweet silence it brought.

* * *

Three years later and Paul had gotten used to living in his flat by the club. He almost got used to that voice in his head, though it still was extremely annoying. He hadn't seen Reyna there all that time, so he slowly kind of put her from his mind. He hadn't showed up for three days at the club, so one of his friends went to see how he was. There was a knock on his door, but no answer. Roland, one of Paul's friends and 'subordinates' as they are called, tried the door to find it unlocked. That's strange. He went in, it was dark with all the curtains drawn and every lamp off. He flicked on a light switch and heard a noise from in front of the couch in the living room that spread out before the door. There he found Paul sitting with dried blood caked on one side of his face.

"Jesus, Paul," Roland said, "Tell me you didn't do it again." He tapped the older man's face to wake him up.

"Knock it off, Roland," Paul muttered, "I'm not that out of it." He opened his eyes and squinted as if he'd been in the dark all the three days. "I don't remember. I think I fell."

Roland knew better and helped him to stand. "That doesn't work anymore," he said, "I thought you said you weren't self-harming anymore." He led him to the bathroom to clean his face.

Paul shrugged and scratched flakes of dried blood off his head. "I though I wouldn't do it again," he said flatly, "Guess I was wrong." He used a wet cloth to clean his cheek and soon discovered that the blood had come from a seemingly small cut on his head. He was a little woozy with a slight headache.

Roland got rubbing alcohol out of the cupboard. "You should start caring more," he said, "You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up." He poured it on a different cloth and dabbed the cut with it.

"How would you know that's not what I'm trying to do?" he snapped.

"You left the door open."

Paul was silent. There was a strong laughter filling his thoughts. 'You left the door open!' the voice was back, 'I knew you were spineless, but Lord! I bet you thought Reyna'd be worried and come to help you...You sorry cunt.' Paul growled under his breath. "Damn you," he muttered.

"Are you talking to me?" Roland asked defensively.

"No, you just need to stop listening in on someone's conversation with themselves," Paul mused, "I'm not sure, but it might be rude."

"Yes, well, I'm not used to having a conversation with MYself," Roland said, "so I don't know when it's going on. We're having a celebration at the club to night."

"What for?" Paul asked, splashing cool water on his face.

"Say good bye to Lennie Taylor!" Roland said happily, "Mays finally found a legal issue to sue him on. Lennie's goons won't be prancing around our club anymore. Fucking restraining order."

"What does he got on him?"

"Lennie's kid's was causing trouble, with a few of the girls that work there," Roland told, "One of the bastards got so fucking drunk, nearly raped one of the poor girls right there, in front of everybody. Freddie traced them back to Lennie and has documents all set up." His smile suddenly faded. "I'm not sure, but I don't think Lennie's gonna put up with that. But let's not worry yet. Come on."

He grabbed Paul's overcoat and handed it to him on their way out.

* * *

'Shit!' the voice said, 'Shit! I'll say it again! Shit!' "You're not helping," Paul snarled quietly. He looked up at the club that had shortly turned in to a bonfire. No more David Bowie at three o'clock in the morning. 'Damn it, bastard, you know who did this,' the voice shot back, 'go fucking beat the shit out of him.'

Freddie was talking with one of the girls who worked there, who was sobbing hysterically. Mays tried to get to words out of the girl, but she couldn't talk right. Roland stood behind Paul said something unheard and pointed past Paul's head. Paul looked and saw a semi-familiar car. He walked forward, through the crowd with a disbelieving look on his face. 'Oh, don't be so surprised,' the voice said. It was Lennie Taylor's goons. 'Lennie Taylor?' Paul thought, 'Torching our club? Lennie Taylor, fucking cunt. Think you're better than Freddie Mays? Lennie, fucking, Taylor. Little piece of dead meat.'

The car swerved into an alley and as it turned a gunshot whizzed past Paul's leg. 'Oh, now they're fucking dead,' the voice said, 'get Roland and tickets to a mini-golf course.'

* * *

The next day, Freddie didn't think too highly of how Paul and a few more friends than Roland took care of a certain asshole. "Pee-brained, little fuck!" Mays yelled, kicking Paul's head. They sat in a pit-like lounge and Mays stood on the higher part. "What did I say? What did I fucking say? I'd fucking handle it!" He paced furiously.

'Well what the fuck were you supposed to do?' the voice hissed, 'the cunt shot at you.' 'You tell him that,' Paul retorted. The voice was silent. He heard Ben pipe in, with his kiddish views on everything.

"He was one of them," he said in excuse, "He burnt down the club."

"You shut your fucking mouth!" Freddie shouted.

Paul recalled the incident last night. 'Well at least you knocked some sense into the bastard,' the voice said. 'And quite a few things out,' Paul replied, 'Roland…always has to be different. Goes in with the shaft, bends the fucking thing. Goes for a second time, breaks the fucking thing. Mad John does his feet, paying astounding attention to detail.' 'Listen to yourself,' the voice said in approval, 'How about Ben?' 'Ben did his ribs. Stone-age, fucking, xylophone.'

"I got a court case all worked out and what do you do?" Freddie's voice penetrated his thoughts. "What the fuck do you go and do?"

Ben shrugged and breathed out a line of smoke from his cigarette. "He be all right," he said optimistically.

'The bloody hell he will,' the voice said. "All right?" Mays repeated, "All right? The cunt's in traction for nine month's. Fucking wheelchair, plastic surgeon…all right? No he's not all right, it's all wrong, you morons!"

'At least I didn't crack his skull open,' Paul mused. 'Yes, but you broke his fucking jaw,' the voice reminded, 'that's not good. Well, it was fun to watch.'

"Get out of my fucking office," Mays shouted. No one moved. "Move! Go! Get the fuck out!" They were out in a flash, none liking being scolded. The place wasn't an "office" it was his flat, but he always referred to it as such because it was where he did most of his business. The building was tall, and the ground floor was rather plain, so Paul found no reason to loiter, he went straight out and on to the street. As he was walking, just as the door closed he heard a familiar voice, but he couldn't place who's it was.

"Hey there," said a woman, approaching him. She wore a comfortable white tank top and blue jeans. Her hair was long and red, and it lay straight against her head, hugging her face where it waved slightly at her cheeks. "Do you remember me?"

"Uh…" he said, taking in her face. He knew he should remember her for some reason. 'Oh come on,' the voice in his head seemed to poke his skull, 'you're not that thick are you?' "You're…" Paul went on ignoring the voice. Then he suddenly remembered. "You're the girl with the…curls! Well, that was three years ago. Reyna, right?"

"Right, curls," she said with a smile, "You can call me Rei. I wonder why I haven't seen you lately. You seemed to disappear off the face of the earth for these past years." Her accent had changed slightly.

"I've been around," he said. He noticed she wasn't wearing shoes. 'Okay, the girl's getting creepy,' the voice said. "Rainbow toe-socks?" He observed.

"I like to wear them," she said, "but I got to thinking, if I wear shoes, no one'll see them and what's the point of wearing rainbow socks if no one is going to see them." She wiggled her toes as if to strengthen her point. "Were you at the club last night? I thought I saw you get shot at, was that you?"

"Yeah, that was me," he said, "Tracked down the son of a bitch and…well, you should've seen their faces when we brought the golf clubs back." 'Nice,' the voice said, 'real smooth…Did I not tell you to stay away!' Paul absentmindedly rubbed his ear, though he knew that that wasn't how he was hearing this.

"Is that why you're here?" she asked, "Mays seemed pissed this morning." She laughed at a sudden thought. "Mini golf, right? Creative." She suddenly stopped laughing and her smile faded. "I'll be right back," she said, "Wait here for a second." She hesitated, then ran into an ally seemingly chasing something.

'You gonna follow her, or not?' the voice said. 'No, she said to wait. So I'll wait.' 'Oh, come one! Stop being a bitch and go follow her! I'm as curious as you are.' Paul clicked his tongue in annoyance and walked slowly into the alley beside the building he'd just exited and peered down to the end, blocked of by a gate. 'Now there's something you don't see every day,' he thought. He saw Reyna with a little pistol pointed at some thug. She kicked him in the groin three times speaking to him with very foul language. She reached down and pulled something out of his pocket. "Bastard," she said. She stood and fired three shots in his stomach. She stood there for fifteen minutes, watching him die, Paul watching her silently. He smirked when he saw take out a knife and carve out the bullets. 'I'm beginning to like this girl more and more,' the voice said.

She turned around and saw him and blushed. "Oh, I thought I said wait for me," she said. She hid her bloody hands behind her back.

He walked forward and examined the body. "You're not new at this," he stated, "Though I would've shot him through the neck. The bullet goes through easier, still kills him—especially if you break the vertebrae."

"You're not new to this kind of thing either, are you?" she asked, more of an observation. "I prefer the stomach. It's more painful and it takes longer to die." She grabbed a newspaper from a trashcan to her left and wiped her hands and the gun. "Don't you Brits know to recycle?"

He gave her a smug smile. "If I'm not mistaken it's America that has the littering problem," he remarked. 'Oh, no you don't,' the voice said, 'don't start thinking about that now! Don't you dare!' "Um…my place is a few blocks away, if you want to come and clean up a little," he said, "You can't get blood off that easy." 'Sad excuse!' the voice laughed, 'you're desperate!'

She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, that'd be nice," she said. She rubbed some blood off that had gotten on her chin. She followed him out of the ally and shoved her hands in her pockets. Her pistol had mysteriously disappeared.

* * *

The flat was almost completely silent beside the soft rush of water to the shower. Paul sat on the couch, not moving or making any noise. One might think he completely unaware of anything, or perhaps sleeping with his eyes open. He had lit a scented candle to help himself relax. 'I'm not an idiot, you know,' the voice said, 'I share your brain. I know what you're thinking, you sick bastard. When she's out of the shower, tell her to leave. Do it or you'll do something you regret. Didn't you notice anything she said earlier? What if she's with some one? MAYS, maybe? What do think they were doing together this morning?' 'I don't care if she's with some one,' Paul thought, 'I'm not gonna screw her, or anything.' 'How do I know that,' it snapped. 'Oh, I don't know, you share my mind,' Paul retorted. 'Exactly,' it said, 'I know you want to!' 'Yeah, well you want to too,' Paul shot back. 'That's not the point. You're the one with the means to do such a thing. And you'd end up killing her.' 'You're a bastard,' Paul said hopelessly. He sighed.

"You alright?" Reyna asked from the bedroom doorway, she faked a strong British accent, "I dare say, you look a tad morose, love." She smiled. She was wearing one of his white, button-up shirts and a pair of his navy blue pants with a belt tightened around her thin waist. She looked very little with such big clothes; it was almost enough to laugh at, except that he was wearing the same thing. "I borrowed some of your clothes, I hope you don't mind. I washed mine in the shower, they're hanging on the curtain bar."

"No, not at all," he said, "you just look very…" He trailed off and noticed that she didn't button the shirt up all the way. "You look very little." 'Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?' 'I'm not sure,' Paul thought in reply.

She raised an eyebrow and laughed a little. "Okay," she was uncertainly, "It'll take a while for those clothes to dry, mind if I stay here?" She sat down next to him on the couch. "I don't want to go back to my apartment in your clothes, Mays would probably freak out."

'I told you! Right there! She ain't free!' the voice laughed in his ears. Paul's brow furrowed. "You live with him?" he asked her. 'Shut up, you zit!' he thought. 'Oh, that's clever! Say it again!'

"Oh, yeah, I didn't tell you," she said, "he's like my boyfriend." She gave him a half-sincere smile and ran her fingers through her hair to get the tangles out. "Well, I don't see when I would've told you being that it's been three years since our first meeting that we're actually talking."

"That's true," he said, "but let me clarify something real quick. You live with him, he's your boyfriend, and you call him by his last name?" 'Where are you getting with that?' the voice demanded, 'No trying to talk her out of a relationship with your boss. That's not fighting fair.' 'Since when do I fight fair? When I told the doctor before I stabbed a pencil through his hand?' 'So you admit you're going for her! Damn it, dumb ass!'

She was silent, no laughter in her eyes. She was deep in thought, as if to find an excuse. "Okay," she sighed, "don't tell anyone this, but I'm not going out with him because I like him. It was his idea that we go out on a date so I could get a place to stay in this country. I like living somewhere too much to dump him. I don't know what he's going to do if I do that." She was stoic and quiet as she said this. "You can't tell anyone that, or it'll get back to Mays."

Paul raised a brow. "Okay, your secret's safe with me," he said. 'What? Why are you keeping her secret?' the voice was strict, like a teacher, 'Oh wait…I didn't notice before. You really love this girl don't you?' Paul ignored it and went on. "I don't know if you should stay here, though," he said. 'Finally something sensible out of your mouth!'

"Why?" she pouted like a child not getting her way.

'Oh no, don't tell me you're gonna…' Paul shrugged. "Well I'm not really…" he tired, "no, well it's…shit." He finally just put his head in his palm and sighed. He didn't want to look at her anymore. 'You're a sad thing, you know that?'

"What's wrong?" she asked in sudden concern, "If you really don't want me to stay I'll leave, it's simple. I was just messing around."

He shook his head without looking up at her. "No you can stay," he said. 'Can you get those thoughts out of your head?' the voice asked in annoyance, 'I don't want to watch your fantasies.' 'Aren't you female anyway?' The voice went to a defeated silence.

She poked his head and tried to look at his face. "You okay?" she asked. "What's up with you? You're trying not to look at me. Yet when you do look at me, that look on your face is really…interesting." Her voice went quiet and she spoke into his ear.

He looked up at what he thought sounded like seduction in her voice. 'You're not hearing things, unfortunately,' the voice said, 'Look, if you're going to go for it, stop stalling!'

"There, got you," she said with a smile, "Now what's with the way you look at me? No one's looked at me like that before."

He stuttered, just like that day three years ago, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Shit," he muttered. He stood up and walked to the wall and leaned his head against it. 'What? Didn't you want to tell her?' the voice taunted, 'Go on! Will you get this melo-drama over with so I can have some peace?' "Shut up," he whispered, "Shut up."

"You're not okay," she said worriedly. She stood and put a hand on his shoulder, standing behind him. "If it's me, I'll go," she said, "I'll just go now, okay?" She was about to take her hand from his shoulder, but he grabbed it in a painfully tight grip.

"No," he muttered, "No…shit!" 'You're really losing it, aren't you?' the voice said happily, 'I bet you could break her wrist like that.'

"Ouch," she hissed, she calmly tried to pry his fingers open. "What's wrong with you? What are you doing?"

He pulled her in front of him and pushed her against the wall. "Shit," he repeated. He was breathing irregularly. He kissed her roughly, slipping his tongue in her mouth. She put her hands on his chest in surprise, but he just took them and pulled them above her head. He kissed her again; he bit her lip lightly. 'Now this is interesting,' the voice said, 'Go on, bite her harder.' Paul sucked on her neck; he bit, letting that voice take him over slightly.

"Ow," she said, "Paul…" She had basically stopped trying to get her arms free. She felt him hesitate; he was coming to his senses. "Don't you fucking stop now," she hissed.

'I think she likes it,' the voice chimed in. Paul shifted his grip on her wrists so that they were in one hand. His free hand rubbed her check softly and massaged her jaw muscles. Suddenly he gripped her jaw and pushed her face to the side. He bit at the flesh on her neck, wondering what it would take to make it bruise, maybe bleed even. He felt her gasps and quiet cries at the pain beneath his lips. He licked the freshly bruised area and his free hand went to work unbuttoning her shirt. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," she gasped. He bit her ear hard and she hissed in pain and then moaned quietly when he had discovered she wasn't wearing a bra. He released her ear and kissed her neck softly, teasing the bruises that were still only red. "Fuck," she whispered.

"Shut up," he breathed against her chest, making her skin crawl delightfully. Her voice caught in her throat when he bit on her left nipple. Well, it hurt like hell, but felt strangely good. His fingers played with the other one until he kissed her lips again roughly. Her head hit the wall, but she didn't mind. She slipped one hand free and quickly grabbed his hair and pulled his head back.

"My turn," she said in his ear as she shoved him roughly back on the couch. She unbuttoned his shirt in record time but left the sleeves buttoned so that his hands got tangled in it when she attempted to take it off. She let his undershirt hang loosely on his arms as she kissed him gently. She pulled away, leaving him wanting it more. Her nails were abnormally sharp and the thumb on her left hand cut through the skin on his chest without a problem.

He moaned as she licked away the blood and then cut open his cheek, repeating her practice. She reached down with one hand and undid the clasp on his belt while with the other she used her nail to lightly trace his jaw, adding a little pressure on the jugular. He liked the danger he felt in it. "I have another secret," she whispered in his ear, "I'm a pyromaniac."

She reached over for something that was behind her back and her hand stayed there for a little while as she unbuttoned his pants. She stuck her thumb in the cut on his chest and he flinched with a small whimper. When her other hand came back, her fingers traced patterns on his skin but they were burning hot. 'How the hell can she do that?' Paul thought, relishing in the sting as she traced the cuts. She reached back again and now she was pulling down his underwear. Her hot hand held his member and he squirmed.

A few seconds later he got his chance and slipped his arms round her, still bound by his shirt. 'Why am I letting you people watch this? Go away!'

* * *

There was no alarm that woke them up, or a sudden light like in the movies, so they both slept comfortably on the couch the rest of that evening and well into the night. Their arms and legs were wrapped around each other's carelessly. Their clothes were scattered on the floor and neither cared enough to put them back on. Paul was dreaming that same nightmare again. This time it was worse because it was detailed on Paul killing his mother and completely destroying her beautiful face. He twitched in his sleep occasionally which in turn caused Reyna to stir.

She looked up at his face with half-open eyes and saw that it was contorted with fear. She reached up and whispered something in his ear that seemed to relax him. "Paul, wake up," she cooed louder.

He didn't stir, so much as he simply opened his eyes and was suddenly awake. It was dark in the room; the candle had gone out. 'There now you've done it,' the voice said, 'you've completely betrayed your boss. I don't see why he wouldn't put you back where he found you after this.' Paul closed his eyes again and hid his face in the crook of her neck. 'Give me peace,' he thought.

"Was that your first time?" she asked softly, in a voice that one couldn't help but answer.

"In a sense," he said. He didn't want to tell her what he meant, but he knew she'd ask. She didn't fail him on that. "Rei, I don't want to tell anyone," he replied quietly. His voice was somewhat muffled by her shoulder. 'Why not, you're about to tell her everything else,' the voice taunted, 'aren't you? Answer!' Paul did not.

She tugged lightly at a bit of his hair. "I told you a secret of mine," she persisted, "Don't tell me that even after you fuck me you don't trust me." Her thumb rubbed the muscles in his neck.

He sighed and kissed her skin. "No, I'm sorry," he said quietly, contemplating how to begin. 'You're whipped already,' the voice sneered. "When I was ten my father arranged to have me put in an asylum for the criminally insane. I spent fifteen years of my life there because he didn't care enough to come get me when they said I could leave. I couldn't leave by myself."

She made no reaction to the thought that he could hear or feel. She stroked his hair gently. "I wouldn't want to press you too far," she said, "but where are you going with this?" She traced swirls in his shoulder blade.

"I was stuck in a building full of criminals," he went on. "Murderers, rapists…child molesters." He paused and shuddered at the memory…the face…the pain. "I was twelve when…" he couldn't say it for some reason "…shit." 'Go on,' the voice said, 'tell her. Tell her you were ass raped by a perverted serial killer. Tell her how he looked at you. Tell her how it felt!' Paul whined quietly under the strain that voice put in his mind.

"You don't have to say it," she soothing him, holding him somewhat more protectively, "I get what you're trying to say. I'm sorry." They both went silent in their own thoughts, touching each other with light, fleeting movements. The silence started to grow uncomfortable. "When I was thirteen," she began to break the silence, "my father locked me in a basement and left me there for three years. I survived off of rats I could catch and kill until I thought to follow them out. When I saw the sun again the man had moved. See, I was never…raped, but my sight is forever more keen."

He shifted and showed her his hands. "My middle fingers are partially paralyzed," he said as if in a competition of scars, "I slit my wrists before I was committed, but I cut too deep, I guess. I wasn't really worried about finger movement, being that I wanted to die." He slightly twitched the fingers, to prove his point—he couldn't move them more.

"That's not a crime," she said, "that's not why you were committed is it?"

"No, I killed my mother," he said solemnly. He saw that question in her eyes. "Don't ask why, I don't remember having a reason. I just remember seeing her a bloody mess and then I had the impulse to take my own life." 'At least now you don't need to worry about her thinking you're strange,' the voice said. 'If she could hear you it'd be a different story,' Paul hissed. 'I'm just saying she's just as nuts as you are. Two weeks of isolation? She had three fucking years in the dark. By the by, you're cheek and chest are bleeding again.'

"Well, I had a fight with my first boyfriend in America and tossed him out of a library window," she said, "second story. That relationship lasted a week." She rubbed his nose with hers. "I expect you to be a little better, at least," she teased.

Paul smirked wryly. "I don't think it would be good if Mays found out about this, though," he said, "You could lose your home, I could lose my job." She kissed him to silence him. 'Knock it off and pay attention!' the voice scolded, 'there's some one at your door. Put your pants on and answer it!' Sure enough there was a steady, patient tapping on his door. He sighed, pulled his arms from around Reyna and sat up, struggling to pull his pants on. The door was straight down the hall behind the couch. "Hello, Mrs. Johnson," he greeted the old lady when he opened the door.

"Good morning, Paul," she said, "Sorry to disturb you this early. I wanted to check up on you before my doctor's appointment." She'd been doing this every once in a while since that incident on the stairs three years ago. She'd been the one that found him. "Oh, did you know that you're bleeding?"

"Yes ma'am," he said simply, not even showing any sign of want to clean up. 'Now I know the old lady asked, but you're freaking her out.'

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you all right?" she questioned.

"Never been better," he assured her with a smile, "Thank you for your concern, but I can guarantee I'm just fine." 'Now you're being a ham,' the voice said.

Her gaze fell behind him in curiosity. "You have company?" she asked seeing that for the first time in the three years she'd known him he had a lady-friend on his couch. Just setting aside the fact that she was nude.

"Hey, Lady," Rei called trying to sound polite, "Do you know what time it is?" She was looking over the back of the couch with barely a thin line of her shoulders visible over the cushion.

"About 6:30 AM," Mrs. Johnson said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I guess I should get going. I just wanted to make sure you haven't hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," he said, "You sure you don't want to stay for a cup of tea?"

"No, I don't want to miss my appointment," she said, "by the way…" she lowered her voice, "haven't I seen her spending time with Fredrick lately? I thought they had something together."

"That's why you're nephew need not know she was here, right?" Paul said stoically, "Can you keep it a secret for me?" 'Just threaten to shoot her in the head if she doesn't,' the voice snapped.

She adopted a mock accusing look and her pale wrinkled skin stretched into a wise expression. "You're secret's safe with me," she said, "He doesn't even come to visit me anymore. Can you tell him his Aunt misses him the next time you see him?"

"Will do, Mrs. Johnson," he said as she walked down the hall towards the stairs. He closed the door and heard "Stigmata Martyr" by Bauhaus suddenly invade his stereo speakers. He hadn't listened to that in a while. He walked back into the living room to see Rei standing, fiddling with the volume. "Your clothes should be dry by now."

"I don't think Freddie would look for me here," she said, "but just the same I suppose I shouldn't be gone too long." She gave him a short smile and went through his bedroom to the bathroom to get her clothes. Paul turned down his stereo before following her and watching her.

'You know you could tie her up and put her in your closet,' the voice said weakly, 'If it'll get you to stop trying to figure things out. Didn't you kill some one the last time you did that?' 'Yes, but that was math,' Paul said, 'I'm horrible at math.' 'No sarcastic remark?' the voice observed, 'Wow, what an effect she had on you.' Paul was silent, just watching as Rei dressed from the door of his bedroom. He heard another knock on his door. 'Aren't you popular this morning.' He grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it on as he answered the door.

'Shit!' the voice said. Paul hid his surprise that Freddie Mays was standing there. "Good morning, Mr. Mays," he said, "You know, your aunt's door is right across there. She misses your visits." 'Nice fucking cover.'

"Been busy lately," Mays said, "Look, I just wanted to…apologize, I guess for yesterday." Now, there's something you really don't see every day. Paul grew slightly suspicious. "The kid got what was coming to him. The case isn't going to work out now, though." He looked as though he'd been up all night, stressed out in a way. "Would you mind if I came in for a second?"

'Hm…what to do, what to do?' the voice mused, 'being that you have his girlfriend in your bathroom!' 'Make sure he doesn't use my bathroom?' Paul said. He stepped aside and allowed his boss to pass. "You caught me in the middle of something," he said, "give me a minute. Make yourself at home." He snatched up the clothes that were on the floor by the couch and set up the candle that was on its side then went into his bedroom.

"Is that Mays?" Rei whispered from behind the bathroom door. She peeked out and saw Paul and was immediately thankful that she had turned on the stereo.

He nodded and put the clothes on the bed. "Look, he's not looking for you here," he said quietly coming over to her, "Just stay in here and keep quiet until he leaves. If you can't then the fire-escape is connected to that window." He pointed to the blurred glass window next to the sink. He buttoned up his shirt over his undershirt and found a plain tie.

She put her pistol in a pocket that Paul hadn't noticed on her pant leg. "I'll surprise him at home," she said, walking towards the fire escape, "sorry about this trouble. I'll see you around." And then she was gone and Paul hesitated as he was folding down his collar. He felt her take something with her as she left.

He went and put on a navy blue suit jacket and went back into the living room. "Now, do you want some tea?" he offered walking to his small kitchen.

"Sure," Mays said. He was sitting on the smaller of Paul's couches. "You know, Paul, I've been thinking lately of how much I appreciate you being my bodyguard. I mean there was that one time in the club when that one foreign bum had explosives. I still don't know how the hell you knew how to disarm him." He looked up as Paul put a small cup of mint tea in front of him.

'What is up with this guy?' the voice inquired, 'is he drunk or something? Since when does he confide in you?' Paul sat down on the other couch, the night before pushed to the back of his mind. "Is there something wrong?" he asked suspiciously.

Mays laughed quietly. "Yes, yes, everything's wrong," he said, "Everything's going completely wrong." He sipped the hot tea. "I'm mean if I had any sense in me I would've been pissed off about you not killing that kid. No, now it's all fucking gone to shit."

Paul raised an eyebrow. 'Is this guy making sense to you?' the voice inquired, 'cause he's a damn fool in my eye right now.' "Did you do this same thing with Ben, Mad John and Roland?" he asked.

"No, I don't really care about them," he said. 'That's fucking frank.' "No, I just came to say that, you're my successor. If anything happens to me, take over this fucking organization."

'That's doesn't sound like it's open for negotiation,' the voice laughed. 'Shit,' Paul thought, 'He's completely lost it. What the hell's gotten into him.' "You sure about that?" he asked, "You're handing this over to a nutcase?" He didn't touch the teacup he had set on the table for himself. "That's it, what's wrong with you?"

Mays heard the seriousness in his voice. "Rumors," he said, "The rumors have gotten me scared. And my own god damned instincts. Lennie Taylor's not done with this yet."

Paul knew where this was going. 'Rumors,' the voice mused, 'Looked like Lennie's planning to get rid of his competition.' 'Shut up for a second and let me think,' Paul demanded. 'I do the fucking thinking in this mind,' the voice said. Paul didn't comment further. "I'll just kill the bastard," Paul said almost angrily.

"I wouldn't do that…yet at least," Mays said, "It's just a rumor after all."

"Yes, and it's a rumor that has you making your last will," Paul muttered, "I'm not gonna let Lennie Taylor get the best of you, not on Jack the Ripper's reputation." This earned a smile.

* * *

"He was at the library?"

"I didn't believe it either."

"What the hell was he doing there?"

"Lennie Taylor. Fucking cunt's been after him for who knows how long."

"But Mays told him to lay off."

"I don't know I've heard rumors. Mays' dog isn't as loyal as he seems."

"You know that American lady with the red hair?"

"You're fucking kidding me."

"No, it's true. As far as I know, he was not too happy about what he found out when he left the library."

"Must've been something good."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Rei asked from behind her door, cracked only as far as the security chain would allow. She then tried to close the door, which only made Paul angrier. He slammed his palm against the door to keep it open. "You can't fucking be here," she murmured venomously.

"Why?" he challenged, "Tell me what the fuck you're playing at here!" He was furious as she tried to close the door again, so he kicked it, ripping the security chain from the wall. 'Did I not say to stay away from this girl?' the voice taunted, 'You fucking loved her and what was she really doing there? Fuck, you got fucking played.' 'I fucking get it!' Paul thought, his tone in his mind was so very frightening that even that voice quieted for a moment. He pointed a gun at her head.

Rei was not unprepared; she looked at his gun without fear and pressed her little pistol into his gut. Her eyes were a mixture of anger and regret. "What the hell do you want to know?" she hissed.

"What's going on with you and Lennie Taylor?" he demanded not even fazed by the gun pressing against his stomach. 'That's all you came for?' the voice scoffed, 'You better kill her.' Paul's anger flared at her silenced. "Answer me!" he growled threateningly.

"You want to know?" she laughed scornfully, her voice quivered slightly with something other than the outrage of a few moments ago, "I fucking work for him! He heard Mays got a new body guard so he told me to spy on him! For three years I watched you, trying to find out what made your tick, but all I learned is that you're just like me! Here's the best part! Lennie told me to get closer to you, as close as I'd need to! Then I was done and I could go home. To America! Is that it? You're just my fucking job! Is that what you want to hear? I can't take this shit anymore! I can't stand this country! I can't stand these gangs! I can't stand you! As soon as either Freddie Mays or Lennie Taylor are dead I'm gone. I already have a plane ticket for tomorrow-fucking-night!" Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and she didn't know why…no wait, she did know. She just didn't want to believe it.

"Why don't I help you along," he muttered coldly. He lowered the gun and turned his back on her. 'What the fuck are you planning?' the voice inquired with delight. 'I'm just going to make sure she doesn't miss her fucking flight,' Paul thought miserably. "I'm not like you," he called without turning around, "I would've fucking shot me, bitch!" Then he was gone.

She sat on the ground, pushing herself against the wall and hugging her pistol. She was crying, sobbing, her entire frame shook as she looked out the door at where Paul had disappeared down the hall. She seemed like a vegetable when the police arrived to question her. Mays arrived shortly after that and cleared up the mess—got the police to leave her alone.

* * *

By nightfall Lennie Taylor was done with the day's business. Everything was planned out: Freddie Mays would be dead by tomorrow night, Reyna would be on her way to America and that goddamn nuisance of a body guard would be too fucking broken to care about it. He had no idea how wrong he was as he had a drink and listened to a creepy love song. He jumped just slightly as he heard the crash that told him his door hand just been kicked in. "Come in," he said sarcastically. He then turned and was surprised to see a royally pissed off body guard. His eyes went wide.

"Don't mind if I do, Lennie," Paul said and shot Lennie in the leg so that he fell—with quite a few curses, mind you. He took out a clean handkerchief and turned up the volume on that weird love song to drown out any screams, and Lennie's excessive cussing. He picked up a nice looking clock and examined it. "Here," he said, "Have a clock!" He smashed it into Lennie's face. Lennie cursed and demanded that Paul finish him off. Paul set his bag down on a table and laid out its contents: an array of self picked weapons. 'Don't get your suit dirty,' the voice mused with a laugh. Paul shrugged and took it off, laying it neatly across the back of a chair. Once in his underclothes he picked up an axe from his tools.

Lennie Taylor is one tough bastard when he wants to be, so it took a while for him to die. From when Paul came into the flat to when Lennie stopped breathing, the following things were used: a gun, a clock, an axe, a bottle of beer, an ice pick, fruit, the fruit dish, a knife, and finally, a cabinet. Afterwards, Paul sat down to rest in his bloody underclothes. He gathered up his weapons then and went to the bathroom to soak them in the sink. Then he filled up the tub and stripped.

* * *

"Holy shit," Reyna muttered stoically as she tip toed through the debris that was one Lennie's living room. She saw bloody mess that she guessed was Lennie and a suit laid out across a chair and guessed it was Paul's. She didn't have her pistol, she didn't want to bring it with her even though she knew Paul would have all this (she actually expected a little more). She heard dripping coming from a door near her that was slightly ajar. She knew this was the bathroom before she entered. She saw that some one was in the bathtub, head submerged and knew it was Paul. She went up to the tube, reached in, grabbed his hair and yanked him up.

Paul gasped as the air filled his lungs again. The thing was, he had enough incentive to stay under for the next half-hour, if that's how long it took. He looked at her accusingly for a moment, then pushed her away. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "You want to go home, go." He got out of the tub, abandoning his venture. 'This is the one time I actually appreciate something she did,' the voice said happily.

Reyna looked liked she'd been stabbed in the heart as she went to find him a towel. "It was an argument like this that landed my first boyfriend in a back brace," she said nostalgically with a soft, sad smile. "There's one more thing I lied about. I want to clear it up before I go."

"Five minutes," he said coldly as he drained the tub, leaving a pink ring.

"Earlier," she began with a sigh, "I said that you were just my job. My relationship with you was just orders…The truth is quite different. In the time I spent with you, I found that I'm capable of more…more than I thought." She could tell that he was unmoved by this venture. He held up three fingers to show she was running out of time. "Listen, my directions were to get close to you, not to…I confided in you that one morning more than I have ever told anyone. I didn't have to. I didn't do it to make you feel comfortable, I'm more selfish than that. I told you because, for one moment while I lay in your arms, I forgot my job and…I trusted you…I…loved you, more than I've loved anyone in the world." There was an unpromising silence that made her uneasy.

Paul went and drained the sink, leaving another pink ring. "Have a nice flight tomorrow," he said softly. His voice was no longer cold, or hateful—just sad. He went to the living room, put on his suit and was gone. That's the second time that day he left her alone.

She stood there and nodded sadly. She didn't expect him to automatically fall madly in love with her. No, she just wanted to say that, no matter what he said. Still, he had wished her well, that was good, right? …Right?

* * *

She was exhausted by the time she had gotten home and explained to Mays that she was leaving tomorrow night. He only questioned her so far when she had explained her relationship with Paul. He seemed to know more than she thought. He even had the decency to make her a cup of mint tea to make her feel better. 'Trust a brit to leave it tea to solve your problems,' she though with a smile. She could just hear Paul saying something sracastic back. She almost found herself crying again. The minute he'd left that second time, as she watched him go, she felt something missing from her, he had taken something with him. And she was leaving it here, leaving him.

She slept well that night and Mays let her sleep in. She slept in until 3:00 PM, though, so he woke her up. "Shit!" she muttered, "I'd better get going!" She was glad Mays would help her pack, but she secretly slipped something into her carry on before leaving, giving Mays a hug.

"You should see him before you leave," he said, "You know, Paul's not one to just let things go like that."

She didn't reply to that. "Thanks for the home away from home," she said with a smile, "I can't say I'll really miss you, but you know, the way things have been going, I'll sure as hell remember you."

He rolled his eyes. "Just don't fucking kill some one at the airport," he said and then muttered a goodbye and closed to door. She was going to take a bus.

* * *

At the airport, once she had gone through security and was sitting at her terminal waiting, with some take out food, she went to the smaller of her two carry on bags. It was a large purse, sort of, and inside was a bundle. She took out the larger article and unfolded it. It was Paul's bloody undershirt he'd left in Lennie's bathroom the night before. If that's not creepy, I don't know what is. She smiled and scratched some of the blood off.

"Flight 764 to LA now boarding," the intercom blared, turning her smile into a scowl. She replaced the shirt and took out her ticket. Damn airlines. It was already well past dark as she boarded the plane, and once everyone was seated, she found herself having trouble with her larger bag. As she tried to force it in the overhead compartment, a man arrived whom was going to sit next to her in the window seat. "No, fucking way," he said to a flight attendant. "I can't sit next to the window."

Reyna ignored this and finally shifted the bag so it slid in and shut the compartment. After she had said that she didn't want to sit next to the window either and thus wouldn't give up her seat she went to the lavatory to get some tissue. When she returned the problem was solved and a tall skinny man sat there. He had his hood on so that the shadow covered most of his face, but she didn't much care to take a good look at him. As soon as the plane took off, she got her CD player out of her bag and listened to Life on Mars over and over again.

Three hours of an eleven hour flight were passed listening to Life on Mars until she was sure she had it stuck in her head. She was almost falling asleep to it when she felt the earphone on her right side move away from her ear. "Life on Mars," a voice commented in a whisper that she could barely hear, "That brings back memories."

She opened her eyes and looked at the man sitting next to her who let go of her earphones. She recognized that voice. "Damn it," she said pulling his hood back, "Paul, you just scared the shit out of me." She tried to hide the fact that she was overjoyed to see him. She failed very badly when she found herself smiling.

He shrugged nonchalantly and sat back in his seat. "You know I've never been on an airplane before," he said, "Never been to LA for that matter." The voice in his head just laughed and poked fun at him.

"Then what are you doing here," she said, "Where'd you get a ticket at such short notice."

"Mays," he said, simply, "I bribed that guy to switch seats with me before I even got on. Oh, by the by, Mays wanted me to tell you that he told you, you should've said good bye to me. I fucking agree."

She made a face of mock offense. "You're the one who had such a finalizing tone last night," she said, "You made me think you never wanted to see me again." She had this warm sensation in her stomach while Paul smiled and laughed just a little as if to say "gotcha."

"I was pissed off, what did you expect?" he said, "You're lucky I took it out on Lennie and not you. I'm glad I took it out on Lennie and not you." 'You know, you two would have some crazy-ass kids,' the voice mused thoughtfully. "Oh, and just so I don't forget, I'm going to need my underwear back. I didn't bring any."

One person stared at them from overhearing, but neither much cared. She leaned over the armrest and whispered in his ear, playfully: "Are you wearing any now?"

He took her face in his hand and kissed her as though he'd never kiss her again. "No, and it's very uncomfortable," he said flatly. He paused a moment and kissed her again.

"Oh get a room," he heard from the center aisles.

"Shut up or I'll cut your tongue out and stitch it into your chest," he snapped, earning quite a few fearful looks. He smiled at the stares. "Have a nice night."

She laughed and put her CD player away. "You followed me this far and all you want is your underwear?" she asked without a bit of belief.

"Well…" he shrugged, "no…not exactly." 'Go on,' the voice said, 'just say it the way you said it to me.' 'But that's just weird.' Paul complained, 'I mean hell, what's she going to say? I barely fucking know her.' 'You know her better than you think,' the voice said wisely, 'now get on with it, you cunt. All that time in front of the bathroom mirror in the airport cannot go to fucking waist.' "I want to ask you something," he said at length, "though I don't know what you're going to say…Fuck it, Reyna, will you marry me?"

Rei sat there in silence for a few moments, contemplating, thinking. She gave no sign of shock, or surprise. It wasn't possible to tell if she was disliking the idea or slowly agreeing to it. She seemed almost like Paul, to be arguing with some voice only she could hear.

"I mean, I know it's proper to have a ring," Paul said, "and I know it's kind of out of the blue. I know you probably don't want to spend a lifetime with a psycho, but I had to ask." 'Shut up,' the voice said. 'No,' Paul hissed back. "I know I probably don't have a right to ask after being the way I was last night, but—"

She put a hand over his mouth and looked at him with a relaxed smile. She said: "Have you ever thought about the concept of insanity," she said, "You can be called insane for so many reasons, usually for having opinions that differ from the most popular, or seeing things that no one else does. Now I have a certain opinion that no one else has and I see things that probably no one else does. I know I'm crazy, but that's not the point. I love you, and I see you as the man I want to spend my life with. That's love, isn't it? So love is basically insanity." And then she kissed him and there were a few cheers from surrounding passengers and Paul was the happiest he'd been for the twenty-nine years of his life.

* * *

"Dad, you're fucking crazy," the kid said, his eyes scanning the table where Paul had set out his many firearms and sharp objects. He had blond hair and green eyes. He was tall for a fifteen-year-old raised in LA and was rather thin, but in the good way. His attire consisted of jeans and a T-shirt. "Are you like some x-Mafia assassin?"

"Jonathan, what did your mother say about using that word," he said nonchalantly, removing a silencer from a handgun. "I'm not that crazy when you think about it. And actually, I was the bodyguard to a British crime-lord. Sounds dramatic, I know." 'You don't hold things back, do you?' the voice said.

"Is that how you met Mom?"

"Oh, now that's a story!" Paul said with a smile. He didn't tell the story, he didn't want to give the kid false fantasies. "Your mother was once an excellent dancer," he went on, "I'm not sure if she still it." A tennis ball hit the back of his head and he dropped his gun.

"Of course I am," Rei said with mock offense, "And Jonathan, I thought I said I didn't want to hear you talk like that anymore. You'll be a bad influence on your sister." Hanging from her hand was the arm of a four-year-old girl with thin strawberry blond hair and dark blue eyes.

"Crystal won't learn to talk like that!" the girl said, "She knows better. Right, Mommy?" Ever since she learned how to pronounce her name correctly she spoke in the third person.

"You are supposed to use 'I' when talking about yourself, sweetheart," Paul always tried in vain to break the habit, but at the same time kind of liked it. He bent down and picked her up heavily.

"Jonathan, would you be a dear and go make lunch?" Rei asked sweetly. Jonathan didn't move. "Now, or I'll lock you in the closet again," she threatened. Jonathan smiled falsely and disappeared into the kitchen.

"I swear your traumatizing that kid," Paul said. He poked Crystal's nose playfully and she giggled and grabbed his finger. He went into a happy calm for a second. "How in God's name did you give me such beautiful children?" he asked quietly.

She smiled and kissed him, taking crystals hand away from his. "You know how," she said with a smirk.

Crystal made and 'ew' noise and pushed herself away from Paul. She plopped to the ground and ran off giggling. This meant that she was playing tag. Paul gave her a 'your turn' look, but Rei pointed her finger expectantly.

"Oh, fine," he said running after the four-year-old on a sugar high. These and the future were some of the best days of his, and Reyna's, long lives together.

* * *

Disclaimer: I only own the characters that you do not recognize. This is not based on Gangster No. 1, being that I haven't seen it, but I was greatly inspired by the snidbits I have seen. The scenes you recognize are not mine either, neither to I lay claim to them.

Rating: R (well that's a first)

Author's Note: This is long…I understand this…LONG!


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